Burning a Hole Right Through
by Allie02
Summary: It's the end of the world as they know it, and they feel fine.  Doctor Who and Stargate Atlantis crossover, centered on Martha Jones and Teyla Emmagan.


**Author's Notes: ** Somewhat inspired by a book that I read at school, The Chrysalids by John Wyndham, and the film 28 Days Later. A work in progress.

xxx

**Burning A Hole Right Through**

It's the smell of the tunnels that finally pushes her over the edge. Dank and overpowering, it saturates the static air that has engulfed her for the better part of two months. She thinks that it should be September by now, but isn't sure. The leaves on the few trees that are left in London's sparse parkland must be starting to turn. Not that the vast majority of the city's population would notice nor care; the remnants of the London Underground is their home now.

She had heard about _them_ a couple of days ago. Rumours of fresh food had spread through the tunnels like wildfire, and she found herself carried almost weightlessly towards the stairs in the ensuing rush. On the upper level she had pushed and strained just like everyone else to catch a glimpse of daylight through the rubble that blocked the station's entrance.

Slowly, as the sight of the outside world remained unchanged, the chaos had dispersed, taking along with it the hope of a fresh meal. The pressure on her limbs and torso lessened until she had found only her right arm cool from the contact of soft skin. That was something she still wasn't quite used to – how refreshing it felt to have the humid air chased away by rough fabric or smooth skin, reinforcing her need for human touch.

"I know where we can find food."

Martha turned to her right to see the owner of the soft skin looking at her.

"There are these people, mostly Americans they say. Ex-military, a few scientists. The rumour goes that they have worked out a pattern to the flares. They go outside each day, hunting and scavenging, bringing back what they can for the others."

"Others?"

"They move along the stations on the Piccadilly Line, the ones that are the deepest. The most crowded ones. No one knows where exactly they will appear on any given night."

"So, you're just meant to wander up and down the tube line hoping that one day your paths will cross and they'll share their food with you?" _Sounds like an urban legend_, she had thought to herself. _And I don't have the energy to pin my hopes on someone else who doesn't deliver_.

The other woman tilted her head. "Do you have better things to do? Washing your hair, perhaps?"

Martha chuckled. "No, I guess I don't have anything better to do. It's just...well, Chinese whispers and all that."

Her companion's brow had creased in momentary confusion, but she quickly recovered. "Yes, I understand your hesitation. But where there is a will..."

"There's a way," Martha finished with a smile. She had been about to ask how the woman had heard the rumours, but a piercing scream from the lower levels caught her attention. She knew that she was the only regular resident of the station that had medical training, and had raced towards the spiralling stairs without a second glance at her companion.

xxx

Two days later, and she's back on street level and eyeing the rubble once more. She hasn't seen nor heard of the woman since, her enquiries only producing impatient grunts of denial, and she's beginning to wonder if the toxic gases are having a psychological effect on her as well as physical.

And so Martha watches the gap in the rubble, which is barely large enough for one person to squeeze through at a time, should they wish to run the risk of further debris falling from the devastated upper floors of the building. Ten minutes pass, then twenty, then thirty.

"Thinking of going for a walk or something?"

Jake's become the unofficial lifeguard of the station. He mans the entrance, keeping an eye out for 'strays'. If and when he sees them, his piercing whistle can be heard echoing through the narrow passageways, initiating shouts for medics – meaning Martha – and water, which is passed to the upper floor somewhat reluctantly by the station's regular occupants.

Martha replies without turning to him. "Or something."

"Nice day for it," comes the muttered response.

A few moments pass before she continues. "A set of three flares hits every two hundred and seventy three seconds. That's just over four and a half minutes. Each big flare is followed by two smaller ones; they're shorter and less intense. The big one always lands across the road, where that sports store used to be. The little ones vary, sometimes hitting the middle of the street, at other times they hit Regent Street. Four and a half minutes is the gap between the second small flare and the next large one."

Jake huffs. "So what? How far you gonna get in four and a half minutes?"

She meets his eye for the first time, and smirks. "Piccadilly Circus."

Jake doesn't look like he believes her but, to his credit, doesn't shirk away from her. He had watched so many people leave in the early days, so full of confidence that they would be the ones who made it back to their homes and families. Martha had seen the sadness in his eyes increase with each body that slipped through the gap in the rubble, never to be heard of again.

"It's not far. Take a sharp left and run like the wind down Regent Street. It's, what, 700 metres? I'll be there in two minutes flat. I was on the athletics team at school, you know," she finishes with a grin.

"Hang on a minute. You just said that the little ones hit Regent Street -"

"The north side. I'm going south."

Jake continues to look at her like she's crazy, so she returns her gaze to the daylight peering through the rubble. It's no wider than her computer screen, but shows her all she needs. Another flash of intense orange light causes her pupils to constrict.

"How do you even know which flare is which, not to mention where they're hitting?"

"From the intensity of the colours," she mutters without looking at him. She waits for the first of the smaller flares to appear before continuing. "They're most intense in the middle of the, well, let's call it a flame. See that small one there? It was more yellow than the second one, which means we didn't see the centre of it. As the edge to the left was slightly paler, I'm guessing that the centre of the flame is to our right. Towards the north part of Regent Street."

"Huh." He sounds far from convinced. "So, what kind of athlete were you? Sprinter? Long distance?"

Martha counts sixty seconds in her head before stepping forward. The last of the three flares reaches the ground at the same time that she brings her hand up to grasp the thick wall of debris. "High jump," she says with an amused glance over her shoulder as she squeezes through.

And then, she runs.

xxx

It's the heat that surprises her more than anything else. There isn't even the slightest breeze to provide respite. Her eyes burn from the smoke and fumes in addition to the severe temperature, while her lungs and airway protest at the oppressive air. But it's the only air she can breathe, and she isn't going to stop. Not now. She stumbles repeatedly as the uneven ground beneath her feet gives way in every direction.

As she reaches the curve in the road, she sees the sky lighten from the corner of her eye. _Four minutes_, she thinks. Another thirty seconds to go. She can see the entrance to the underground station on her side of the road, and tenses a little at the pile of debris blocking the entrance. But as she gets closer, she spots a gap between the far wall of the entrance and the rubble.

The sky above her explodes as she reaches her destination, and Martha hurls herself across the debris and into the hole in the ground. Her left hand smashes against the railing that runs along the centre of the set of stairs, and she rolls off one of the steps to land on flat ground with a loud thud. She opens her eyes and stares gratefully at the foot of the stairs that her head has managed to miss by mere inches.

"Incoming!" The voice is definitely male, and American, but she isn't entirely sure where it is coming from. She finds out a moment later, as a body crouches next to her.

"You okay?"

"I think so," she replies uncertainly.

"That was one heck of a jump," he comments with a wry smile, as if unsure whether to be impressed or disapproving.

"Thanks," she mutters, as she rises gingerly with his help and brushes her jeans clean of the dirt that she landed in.

"Medic's that way." The call comes from a passer-by who doesn't bother looking at her, instead keeping his eyes peeled to the laptop he's carrying. Martha wonders how he's managed to keep it working for these past few months.

"Don't need one," she calls back. "I'm a medical student myself."

"Handy," replies her American companion. "So, is there any reason why a valuable member of society," he shrugs," well, what's left of it, would be risking life and limb going out in the open? Where did you come from?"

"Oxford Circus." She straightens her back, wincing at the throbbing of her right shoulder blade. "Seeing as the Bakerloo tunnel's blocked, I figured that my best bet would be to make a run for it on street level."

"Well, let's hope it was worth it," he says with a grin.

Movement behind him catches her attention. "Oh, it was definitely worth it," she says, distracted.

The man follows her gaze and exchanges a small smile with the approaching woman. "I see you've already met Teyla, then."

"You're one of them," says Martha, addressing her.

"Yes." Teyla bows her head slightly. "I am sorry for the deceit, but we have found it to be necessary. We needed to know that you would be willing to risk your own life for the sake of others, and not just for your own personal gain."

"How many are there of you?"

"We're not entirely sure," says the American. "We started out with just seven of us, but we're getting more and more people trained up every day. You're our very first medical recruit though." He extends his hand towards her. "I'm John, by the way."

"Martha," she replies, reaching up to meet him.

"You already know Teyla." The other woman closes her eyes briefly as she nods in greeting. "The guy that walked past with his laptop was Rodney, Radek's down on the platforms somewhere. And Ronon and Elizabeth should be back in a couple of hours; they were heading pretty far out east for their food run."

Before she gets the chance to ask how many more of them there are and where they came from, she sees Rodney emerge from the suspended escalators. He approaches quickly, but only glances at her before turning to John impatiently.

"Well?"

"She's one of Teyla's."

Rodney turns to Martha. "Are you military?" She shakes her head. "A scientist?"

She starts to nod. "I'm a medical student -"

"Oh, great," he interrupts before turning to Teyla. "Is it too much to ask for someone with a physics degree? It doesn't even have to be a PhD, a Masters will do."

Teyla narrows her eyes slightly. "She will be needed if and when any of us suffer an injury."

Rodney huffs. "I'd still prefer a physicist," he mutters before turning away. "I'll show you the lab," he calls over his shoulder.

John grins at her. "Don't worry. That's just his way of saying hello."

Martha gives him a wry smile. "A handshake would've done."

Teyla follows Rodney to the escalator, and John gestures to Martha to do the same. She can't remember the last time that she was here, and she's forgotten how long some of the escalators are. It seems to take forever to walk to the bottom, and she's a little disheartened to see that the scene by the platforms isn't much different to the station that has been her home for the past two months.

John's voice interrupts her thoughts. "We made a lab out of one of the control rooms. It's not much, but we've managed to knock a few handy devices together."

Rodney glares back at him. "_We_?"

"_Rodney_'s managed to knock a few things together," he corrects.

"What kind of things?"

They stop at a small door at the end of the narrow passageway. As Rodney grips the door handle, he turns and gives her a tight smile. "The kind of things that tell us that the flares aren't natural."

She pauses in the doorway. "Are you serious?"

"I am afraid so." The voice comes from the corner of the room, and she edges further inside to see its owner. He gives her a small, slightly awkward wave. "I'm Radek."

"Martha," she manages, still surprised by what she's heard.

"The flares are definitely artificial, if not in their origin, then certainly in the way they're being maintained," Rodney continues. "There's a defined pattern of three flares per sequence. The gap between each sequence is two hundred and seventy -"

"Three seconds," she interrupts. "I know."

"Three point seven seconds," Rodney finishes. "Given the variations in gravitational pull and axial tilt, I'm certain that no natural phenomenon is capable of being so consistently accurate."

"Do you know who's behind it then? I mean, if it _is_ artificial, then who, or what, created it?"

"We don't know. We just don't think that it's anyone on this planet."

Martha nods her head slightly in understanding.

"You don't seem too surprised by that," John comments.

Martha lets out a puff of quiet laughter. "I've been to different planets, to the past, to the future...I've seen things beyond my wildest dreams. I've seen someone try to destroy this planet before, and he very nearly succeeded too. I don't think there's _anything_ that'll surprise me now."

She smiles back at him. "And _you_ don't seem surprised by _that_."

John glances at the others before answering. "We were part of a US-led organisation called the Stargate Program. Ever heard of it?"

Martha shakes her head.

"The Gate allows travel between two planets, usually within the same galaxy but there are exceptions." He looks around the room again. "_We_ lived in another galaxy for five years."

"The galaxy that was home to myself and Ronon," Teyla interrupts.

Martha smiles at her.

"So, did you ever see or hear of anyone – or anything – that might be capable of what Rodney's suggested?" John asks.

"I can think of one," she replies with a grimace. "But this just isn't his style. It's too...private. He'd want to see and hear our suffering, to taunt us. This," she glances upward, "this just isn't him."

"Sounds familiar," Rodney mutters.

"So, what now?" she asks. "Why did you want me here? You already have a medic."

"We don't actually want you _here_," John says. "We want you to come with us. We're going on a little road trip."

Intrigued, she asks, "Where to?"

"We're going east. To Kent."

Manchester or Glasgow, she'd have understood; they both had underground transport that could have saved a good proportion of their large populations. But, "_Kent_?" It was too open, too near the coast, too -

"The Channel Tunnel!"

John glances at his watch in mock-seriousness. "Three point nine seconds. A tenth faster than Rodney." He grins, earning a roll of the eyes from the other man. "Impressive."

Radek interrupts from the corner of the room. "And besides, the further out we get from the city, the less frequent the bursts are. We're pretty sure that they're concentrated on areas of or higher than a certain population. So even though we will be sitting ducks in the rural areas, we're much less likely to be encounter the flares."

Martha's still not sure. "So we get to France. Then what?"

"A hell of a lot of European cities have underground transport networks. We'll have a better chance of finding more people if we go to, say, Paris or Brussels or -"

"Prague," says Radek wistfully.

"A lot of us have personal reasons for wanting to get to mainland Europe." John's gaze drifts across the room. "Family, friends, colleagues. A lot of Teyla's people are there. Rodney's hoping to make it to Russia before the winter and try and find what's left of their Stargate program."

"Do you know how _big_ mainland Europe actually is?"

Rodney answers. "Like I said, the intensity of the flares will lessen the further we are from a populated area. And once we get to one of the major cities, with the equipment that we have, it shouldn't take long to work out the new localised pattern. Hopefully there'll be a reasonable amount of underground shelter should we need it."

"And you don't even know that anyone's still alive out there," she comments quietly.

"No, we don't," John agrees. "But we can hope. And when there's hope..." He shrugs casually, but his determined expression tells her that he has faith in their plan.

"What about the people here? They're relying on you to help them."

"We have been teaching them." Martha turns to Teyla. "Rodney and Radek have informed some of the pattern. John, Ronon and myself teach our methods of hunting. When I first brought you here, you asked who the 'others' were that John spoke of. They are ordinary people, like you and I. People who just want to live and eat. But more than that, they want to help others and find an end to this suffering."

"Your own little army, huh?"

John smiles. "More a colony of sorts."

A commotion further down the corridor catches their attention. "Elizabeth and Ronon must be back." Rodney and Radek brush past her to follow John out the room.

"Determined little bunch, aren't they?" Martha says as she watches them retreat.

"They want to save the world," Teyla replies, as if it's the most natural of instincts.

"I saved the world once," she comments nonchalantly.

Teyla arches an eyebrow, but seems to believe her. "As did I. Though it was not my home at the time."

"You make a habit of saving planets that you don't even live on, then?" Martha teases.

Teyla smiles for the first time. "No. We had allied ourselves with the Earthers to fight against a common enemy, an enemy that ravaged our galaxy and would stop at nothing to do the same with yours. When the battle ended, we sought refuge on Earth."

"It didn't end well, I take it?"

"No, it did not. The enemy was defeated, but not by us. By a far more powerful enemy."

"Could _they_ be behind this, the flares?"

Teyla shakes her head. "No. We ensured that they could not leave the Pegasus Galaxy. They are trapped – in a time dilation field. Also, the flares, they are not -"

"Their style?"

"No," Teyla agrees. "Not the Asurans' style at all. If their goal was destruction, this method would be far too inefficient for them."

"Do you really think that getting to the Stargate place in Russia is the answer? I mean, Rodney said that there wasn't even a Gate there, so what's the point?"

"Elizabeth believes that the Russians may have kept some other devices that they obtained while their Gate was in operation. If there is anything that will allow communication with Stargate Command or to one of Earth's allies in the galaxy then we may be able to assess the global situation and determine a coordinated plan."

"Plan for what?"

"Survival, initially. Then attack. Recovery. Regrowth."

Martha chuckles. "Like to aim high, don't you?"

"I know of no other direction in which to aim," Teyla replies with a smile.

xxx

Martha stands on the bridge that spans the two deepest platforms. Two months ago, the gangway would have been bustling with commuters and tourists alike. Now, the walls are lined with scraps of fabric that form makeshift bedding for families. She doesn't have the heart to tell the parents that the air is no less toxic up here than it is by the platforms.

Light footsteps approach. She smiles to herself when they stop and an arm brushes her shoulder; she doesn't need to shift her gaze to know who it is.

"I know that we're doing this for the people down there just as much as us, but I feel like I'm abandoning them. What if we don't make it? What if they can't find food as easily as you could?"

"They will."

The confidence in the other woman's voice surprises Martha, and she turns to face her.

Teyla's eyes meet hers then, wide with determination. "And we will find a way through."

_We_. Something tells her that she isn't just referring to her group of friends – or colleagues or whatever they are – but to _her_ too. And to everyone around them. And everyone they have yet to meet. _We_ means the entire human race.

Martha returns her gaze for a long moment before nodding her head in agreement and allowing herself a small smile. "We always do."


End file.
